


Intertwined

by elusive



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: Dream Pack, Drugs, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Suicide Attempt, Swearing, Underage Drinking, girl Skov
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-15
Updated: 2016-01-24
Packaged: 2018-05-14 03:34:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 2
Words: 1,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5728162
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elusive/pseuds/elusive
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jiang was lying on the ground counting stars. He wondered if Kavinsky was among them.</p><p>“You’re joking, right? I loved him, but that son of a bitch ain’t nowhere near Heaven.” Swan spoke softly, barely above a whisper.</p><p>Jiang hadn’t realized he said that out loud. He shrugged, as best as he could lying down. “That’s as high as you get. If anyone can break in, it’s him.”</p><p> </p><p>A story about the dream pack dealing with Kavinsky's loss and how they came together in the first place.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. the downfall

Skov was the one who took it the hardest. This was glaringly obvious as soon as Kavinsky’s lifeless body hit the ground with a dull thud. She was on him in an instant and her pain clawed out of her throat in piercing screams. She couldn’t, or wouldn’t, talk for days after. Swan had to carry her twisting body on his shoulders away from the scene, silently leaving Jiang to deal with the fallout.

Swan managed to get her in his car a few feet away and gave her some water to drink. She was shivering violently and her hair kept sticking to her wet cheeks. She wasn’t even trying to wipe the tears away as sobs wracked her small frame. Swan retrieved a hoodie from his seat and draped it over Skov and he petted her hair for a few minutes until her breathing settled and she seemed to fall into a fitful sleep. By then, Jiang was nowhere in sight.

Swan left Kaja sleeping and tried to look around for Proko, not understanding why he wasn’t there with them. The sight of his mangled Golf was really too much to take. The possibility of losing both of them at once made his knees go weak. He checked for a pulse, but going by the blood on Prokopenko’s temple it seemed like a pointless afterthought. And yet. Swan felt under his fingertips the faintest trace of hope.

*

It would be wrong to say Jiang was emotionless. He wasn’t good with words and he wasn’t tactile with his affection as he often witnessed Swan was. He didn’t know how to reach out so he usually turned it all inwards, the good and the bad. This was the worst he’d ever known, and it felt like swallowing shards of glass or a dagger twisting in his gut. Whichever would cause more damage. But he didn’t show any of it. Instead, he dragged Kavinsky’s corpse, untouched save for his singed clothes, and dumped him in his Supra. He couldn’t stand everyone’s heavy stares, not saying a word, not even trying to help. Sure, maybe they didn’t deserve anyone’s help, they were bad kids, rotted to the core. But no one deserved to watch their friend die. 

Kavinsky had relied on him to do his dirty business time and again, but he also trusted him with his body. He’d lost count of the wounds he’d patched up and the tattoos he’d given K and he didn’t feel like counting them now, they didn’t belong to him anymore. He carried Kavinsky’s body back to the mansion and cut off his clothes with a switchblade so he could get him in the bathtub and wash away the dirt and ashes. Surely there were people they could pay to do this, but the thought alone made Jiang’s blood go cold. 

*

The funeral was a miserable thing in the middle of nowhere because they didn’t want him stuck in a cemetery. The glaring sun and the cloying heat made the black clothes stick to their skin. You’d think it would have the decency to rain, but Swan supposed it was only fitting for the weather to be so contrary and unpleasant. Kavinsky would like it, at least. Kaja insisted on wearing a black lace dress and her long brown hair was braided in a crown. Save for her chucks, she looked uncharacteristically prim and proper. Possibly also because it would amuse K to no end. Jiang was fidgety and kept pulling at the collar of his shirt, then he started twirling a knife until Swan took it wordlessly out of his hands. As for Swan, he towered over their little three people group and wiped the sweat off his forehead. Prokopenko’s comatose state kept him in a hospital, another weight on their collective shoulders.

And K, well. He was being lowered in the ground. The priest kept it short, in turns pitiful and uncomfortable, but they’d paid him enough to do his job and keep quiet about it. They stayed there long after the service was done and the sun started to go down, breaking out a bottle of vodka and passing it around. They traded anecdotes about Kavinsky that went from funny to heartbreaking to unbearable, until all that was left was silence. When it was fully dark, they turned on the headlights and music and did lines off the hood of Swan’s car. It felt like the right way to say goodbye. 

Skov fell asleep on Swan’s shoulder, propped up by the car, and Jiang was lying on the ground counting stars. He wondered if Kavinsky was among them.

“You’re joking, right? I loved him, but that son of a bitch ain’t nowhere near Heaven.” Swan spoke softly, barely above a whisper.

Jiang hadn’t realized he said that out loud. He shrugged, as best as he could lying down. “That’s as high as you get. If anyone can break in, it’s him.”

Skov stirred and stretched her limbs with a sigh. “In and out.”

“Like a motherfucking thief”, they said in unison and laughed.


	2. the soft spot

As absurd as it would sound for anyone outside their circle, Kavinsky had been a lifeline for his little pack or outcasts. They had flocked one by one to Kavinsky like flies to shit, as he would put it, simply because of this: they were unwanted. And for once, Kavinsky wasn’t lacking in this aspect. He always wanted too much and he would demand it shamelessly from them.

Kaja Skov was a late addition, but one Kavinsky was very fond of, in spite of himself. He’d found her at one of his house parties taking a hot bath while fully dressed, her brown locks of hair reminiscent of tentacles as she tilted her head from side to side. He’d only come in to take a piss, but found himself transfixed by the ripples. It took a while to notice the water turning red from her wrists.

She never asked Kavinsky why he pulled her out and wrapped her wrists in the shredded ribbons of his t-shirt. It always felt like asking too much of him to acknowledge it. She showed up a couple days later to Kavinsky’s house with beaded bracelets covering her bandages and found him passed out on the living room floor. She kicked at him until he grabbed her leg and pulled her down. Kaja landed half on top of him. 

“The fuck you doin’ here?” he muttered, rubbing at his eyes. 

“I want you to teach me to race,” she said, slowly and clearly, so the words would cut through the fog in his head. 

Kavinsky pushed her off him and sat up, stared at her for a minute or so. Then he laughed, loud and uncontrolled. “Do you have a car?” Kaja said no. “Do you even know how to drive?” The answer was also no.

The corners of his eyes crinkled when he laughed. He clapped his hands once and said “So. What the fuck do I call you?”

Kavinsky always called her Skov.

*

She wasn’t technically of age to drive, and starting out on a Mazda RX-7 was definitely a disaster waiting to happen, but if K thought she could do it, she would fucking do it. He was a terrible teacher, short-tempered and much more interested in going fast than going straight. But the others helped too. Prokopenko was silly and lighthearted and put her at ease. They made fun of one another, him of her driving skills, Kaja of his goofy ears and accent. 

Swan seemed wary of her at first. She thought it must be her age, or her cheap clothes and living on her grandma’s pension and going to a public school, unlike the boys who all seemed so careless with their money and cars and parties. She wanted so badly to belong. It threw her off balance when Swan took her aside one night while the boys were trying out Proko’s newest booze and pills cocktails.

“You sure you wanna be runnin’ with a rotten crowd like us?” Swan had a deep, rasping voice and gentle brown eyes, a shade as warm as his skin. His palm felt heavy on her scraped knee. Suddenly, she felt so small.

Tears burned furiously in her eyes. “If you don’t want me here, I’ll fucking go.”

“That’s not what I’m saying.” He lifted his hand and wiped away one treacherous tear off her cheek.

Kaja closed her eyes and let out a long breath. “I have nothing else.”

“Okay. Okay.” Swan held her until Kavinsky barged in and demanded they come join the party. 

“You ladies gonna braid each other’s hair or do you want to get wasted?”

Kaja stood up and punched Kavinsky in the shoulder. Jiang had started teaching her how to fight.  
“Can’t last a minute without us?”

“Shut it, squirt.” Kavinsky pulled her in and smacked a kiss on her forehead. “Now, do I have to start paying you cash to play some fucking songs or will my good looks do?”

“Get me a drink, you asshole.” Kaja laughed and pushed him away. As she made her way to the sound system, hands already itching to play with some beats, a feeling like peace washed over her. Well, not quite peace. Just the sense of being in the right place. 

The switchblade Jiang had given Skov sat in the back pocket of her shorts, a reminder that nothing would keep her here and she could break free at any time.

**Author's Note:**

> i'm on tumblr @andreeil if you want to come suffer with me


End file.
